


The Seduction of Mairon

by HazelnutShippingCo



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Poetry, Valinor, and just a hint of my interpretation of Soul-Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelnutShippingCo/pseuds/HazelnutShippingCo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...and simultaneously, the seduction of Melkor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seduction of Mairon

Melkor watched from shadows deep,  
the Maia smith who worked alone,  
toiling still whilst others took rest,  
unwilling to leave his work undone.  
He moved with the grace of a dancing flame,  
as sparks fled bright from hammer-blows,  
on metal glowing,  
red with heat,  
moved by violent skill to art.  
   
Aulë’s pupil paused in thought,  
examining the work of his hands,  
his fair face bent into a frown,  
as he spied some imperfection therein.  
He pulled a hand,  
from leather glove,  
its skin of hue ‘twixt ivory and alabaster,  
and drew it ‘cross his furrowed brow.  
Then gloved again he took up tongs,  
and thrust into the forge’s fire,  
his work unfinished,  
to rework again.  
  
The furnace bright with fiery heat,  
seemed to Melkor dim,  
beside the red-gold hair,  
of the smith who stood,  
bathed in its glow,  
frustration etched into the lines of his stance.

Eyes like flame,  
their light and heat,  
bespoke the nature of the spirit within,  
glaring in judgement at the warming metal,  
as he waited to bend it to his will.  
A being of beauty, power, and skill,  
his potential,  
the Vala thought,  
was wasted here.  
  
Desire burned in Melkor’s chest,  
in the cool dark,  
where he stood concealed,  
hot as the metalwork fresh-drawn from fire,  
that the Maia loomed over,  
poised to strike.  
  
And in that moment,  
the Vala’s mind was made.  
He had desired Light,  
a Flame to keep,  
and this one here he would possess.  
From shadow he stepped,  
and startled still,  
that smith who stood with hammer raised.  
  
An instant unmoving,  
bright eyes widening in recognition,  
before Melkor closed the distance between them.  
A thief in the night,  
he stole a kiss.  
Soft lips parted, yielding to him,  
and in their yielding, drew him in,  
in sweet submission holding sway,  
o’er a captured Vala struck in awe.  
  
The hammer fell,  
unheeded to the floor.  
The two entranced,  
embracing,  
entangled,  
took notice of naught,  
save for each other,  
and the sensation of their souls drawing near,  
nearly to touch,  
and quivering in resonance,  
of harmonies matched.  
  
Melkor knew he was taken,  
even as he took.  
Breathless they parted,  
trembling at the revelation,  
for a moment only,  
before lips touched again,  
drawn like moths to candle flame.  
The Vala thought he might melt in this warmth,  
wished almost that he could,  
to be melted and mingled,  
as metals in the furnace,  
and emerge as souls reforged.  
But their time had not yet come.  
  
Melkor drew back,  
reluctantly.  
He laid a hand aside the Maia’s pale cheek.  
 _“Come with me,”_ he whispered,  
a superfluous question,  
the look in Mairon’s eyes told clearly,  
he would follow him,  
to whatever end.  
  
Melkor took hold of a slender hand,  
rough-skinned from craftsman’s tasks,  
and together they fled,  
from West to North,  
and across the sea,  
to a darker realm,  
and far beneath the earth,  
were wed.  
And ever in shadowed halls they dwelt,  
for to Utumno’s Lord it seemed,  
his Flame burned brightest in the dark.


End file.
